Kaleidoscope (II): Mirrors
by shimotsuki11
Summary: Remus resolves to wait for as long as it takes until Tonks stops imagining herself in love with him, while Tonks refuses to give up until Remus lets himself have the love he deserves: The irresistible force meets the immovable object, a million times, and the fight against Voldemort goes on. (RL/NT, Order members, werewolf OCs. Set during HBP. Sequel to Kaleidoscope (I): Colours.)
1. Now Wait for the Tide to Turn

**~ _1_ ~**

**Now Wait for the Tide to Turn**

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

Remus was on his feet with his wand raised before he was entirely awake.

_Tap. Tap._

He blinked, rubbing at dry scratchy eyes with his free hand.

An enthusiastic short-eared owl was fluttering at one of the small windows set high in the outside wall of his basement flat. The sun was already well up—it was not, in fact, too early for owl post. Normally, he would have been long awake by now.

He hadn't slept well last night.

Remus shook his head, hard, and waved his wand to open the window. The owl swooped inside, perching on the back of one of the spindly kitchen chairs and fixing him with a disconcertingly intense yellow stare.

"Hello there," he said, running a finger gently over the feathered head. He sighed. "I imagine I know whose owl you are."

He found a crumbling owl treat in a dusty jar in one of his kitchen cupboards. It was likely quite stale, but the owl ate it cheerfully enough. Once it had swallowed the last crumb, though, it stuck out its leg and hooted pointedly until Remus detached the letter it was carrying.

The envelope said merely _Remus Lupin_, in the large irregular scrawl he'd expected to see. The letter inside wasn't very long, either.

_R— _

_We need to talk._

_What time shall I stop by today?_

—_T_

Remus rubbed at his eyes again. It was still two days before the full moon, but the inevitable exhaustion was already setting in.

The dreams last night certainly hadn't helped.

The owl, shuffling from foot to foot, cocked its head at him and clicked its beak.

"Waiting for a reply, are you?" He couldn't help smiling a little at the bird's persistence—

—which was, in fact, not unlike its owner's.

The smile slipped.

Remus rummaged in a cupboard for a sheet of parchment and a quill, and sat down at the table, only to find himself staring blankly into space.

Was he really ready to face Nymphadora again?

Last night had been _too_ soon. He hadn't given himself enough time to learn to cope. He never should have gone to meet her at the Three Broomsticks when he was still reeling from the shock of realising that he—

—that he _loved_ her.

And that ill-considered decision had led to one of the worst mistakes of his life.

He had thought it would be safe enough. They were only going out for a friendly drink, after all, like so many others they had shared at Grimmauld Place. And who on earth would ever have expected the vibrant, effervescent Nymphadora Tonks to see anything of note in a shabby old Dark creature?

But apparently, _she_ thought she had.

She must have noticed something different about him last night, in any case; must have recognised the new bone-deep longing that he hadn't yet learned how to hide. With no warning whatsoever, she had barrelled, in her bright brave clumsy way, straight through his rickety half-built defenses—

She had given him, freely and sweetly, exactly what he had been frantically trying _not_ to want as much as, say, _air_.

He shivered, lost in the memory of their kiss—the eager press of her lips against his, her warmth as she clung to him, the faint scent of lavender from her shampoo.

It had lasted forever, and it had been far too brief.

And he never, _ever_ should have let it happen.

Even so, Remus had dreamt that kiss, again and again, all night long. Waking, again and again, with the same aching shiver that was plaguing him now.

He set his jaw and clenched his fists, waiting for the memories—and the longing—to subside.

The owl fluttered to the back of his chair and tugged gently at the hair over his ear.

"All right," he said, hoarsely. "All right." He picked up the quill again.

_Dear Tonks,_

_You are quite right that we should talk. _

But then he stopped, frowning at the parchment.

He couldn't do this.

He simply couldn't risk seeing her again, not before he'd learnt to suppress this dangerous ache—this new overwhelming need to catch her warm strong hand in his own, to thread his fingers through her hair, to taste her kiss—

Remus squeezed his eyes tightly shut against the lure of impossible wishes, just a little too late to stave off yet another shiver.

The truth of it was, he _had_ to talk to Nymphadora. He owed it to her to ensure that she stopped wanting things that could never be. He had to set things right between them, or his one moment of negligent weakness would end up costing him the most important friendship he had left.

_I'm afraid I have some Order business that will keep me busy through tomorrow,_ he wrote, at last. _I'll be at home tomorrow evening, if you would like to stop in then for a cup of tea. _

There. Done. In for a Sickle, in for a Galleon.

Remus sighed.

The owl clicked its beak and shuffled its feet.

"Yes, yes," he said, wearily. "Almost finished. But she hasn't been here before. I'd better give her some idea of what to expect."

_Do come by Floo—this is a rather run-down neighbourhood, and it's Muggle. I'd hate to see you put to the trouble of Obliviating any would-be attackers after you'd finished subduing them._

—_Remus_

The owl cocked its head at him as he folded the letter into a tidy square.

"Tomorrow's the best I can do," he insisted, feeling a bit defensive in spite of himself. "I've got a task for the Order that I can't postpone. The moon doesn't wait."

That was true enough. Keeping up his surveillance of Fenrir Greyback's werewolf pack was more important than ever in the last few days before the full moon. Remus should have been out in the wood already, really. It was careless of him to have overslept, no matter how many dreams had plagued him last night.

And if he was using his mission as an excuse to wait one more day before daring to see Nymphadora again, well—

He was doing the best he could.

**~o~**

Tonks stepped out of the Floo into Remus's flat, managing to stay on her feet for once.

"Wotcher!"

She was a Hufflepuff, and she had decided to play to her strengths. So—calm, stubborn, _unrelenting_ cheerfulness it would be. With pink hair, for good measure.

"Hello, Tonks." Remus's voice was quiet. Careful. And the lines in his face were etched rather deeply, although maybe that wasn't so unusual, the day before the full moon.

At least he smiled when he saw her, and the smile was real.

That was a good sign.

Wasn't it?

She still had _no bloody idea_ how to start this conversation.

"Won't you sit down?" Remus pointed his wand at the elderly kettle that squatted on a gas ring, and it began to wheeze and steam. "Let me just make some tea."

"Ta." Tonks pulled out a chair and sat at the kitchen table, which wobbled a little when she leaned her elbows on it.

Remus had his back to her now, arranging two teacups on mismatched saucers, and she seized the opportunity to look around. The flat seemed to consist of one small room, furnished with nothing but this dented metal table and chairs, and a bed in one corner that was made up to look a little like a sofa by dint of a row of sagging pillows along one side. The walls and floor were dark grey stone, broken only by a series of built-in cupboards and one small threadbare rug by the bed. It seemed to be a basement flat, as the only windows were narrow and set high in one wall.

The flat was dark, and chilly, and spartan—and almost painfully tidy, in a way that made her want to smile and made her stomach feel hollow all at the same time.

"It's English Breakfast. I hope that's all right." Remus's voice was still careful, and he had turned back to look in her direction, but he wasn't meeting her eyes now.

She managed to suppress a sigh. _Keep it cheerful._ "That sounds nice."

He opened a cupboard above the tiny kitchen worktop. She could see, over his shoulder, that it held all of three small potatoes, half an onion, and a sack half-full of lentils, plus a few tins and bottles. He took down a rather battered tea tin, reaching quite far inside before fetching out two teabags, which he arranged very precisely in the teacups. He added water from the kettle and brought the cups to the table, tapping each with his wand to steep the tea.

That made her stare. The teabags were already a surprise, but she had only ever seen him let his tea steep without magic.

"I haven't any milk or lemon just now, I'm afraid." Remus turned back to the cupboard and scrounged in the back a bit before emerging with a sugar bowl. "But here's some sugar."

Tonks lifted the lid. There were barely three spoonfuls left in the bottom. She meant to put the lid back on and push the sugar bowl away, but she glanced across the table at Remus and caught him watching her sideways. So in the end, she put the tiniest bit of sugar on her spoon and pretended to stir it into her tea as though it were more than it was.

Remus didn't take any of the sugar. "Cheers," he said instead, and raised his cup in her direction. Even his smile was careful this time.

She returned the salute—much more brightly—and sipped at her tea.

It was awful.

Tonks was no connoisseur, but this tasted downright _dusty_.

Remus's flat was dismal, and the state of his kitchen cupboard was, frankly, depressing. But—this _tea_—

How many times had she watched Remus making tea at Grimmauld Place? He was so patient when measuring out the leaves, so precise in adding exactly the right amount of water at exactly the right temperature, so appalled by the very mention of the steeping spell. So proud of his ability to ferret out new and different blends of tea to bring back—"for the Order," of course, a perspective that Sirius, who was funding the household from his fat Gringotts vault, had quite craftily encouraged.

What always held her mesmerised, though, was the expression of utter bliss that Remus let slip, sometimes, as he took his first sip of the tea that he had brewed _just so_.

And now—

Tonks had known that Remus had no job outside his work for the Order, and she'd guessed from the generally shabby state of his clothes that he must be rather poor. It was inevitable that there would be things he liked that he had to do without.

But it was one thing to know that, in a general sense. It was quite another to see him sitting here, drinking dusty sludge out of an old chipped teacup and pretending that he didn't mind.

It wasn't _fair_.

The tears she had to blink away made her angry. Tears came far too easily now—ever since the night Sirius fell through the Veil.

_Cheerful, dammit!_

She took a deep breath and set her cup down. It chinked sharply against the saucer.

Remus stiffened, darting a wary glance in her direction before looking away again.

But that only fueled her determination.

If there were things in this world that Remus couldn't have, that was all the more reason for him to stop denying himself a certain source of happiness that _would_ be within his grasp, if only he would reach out and take it—

"Remus."

Tonks leaned across the table and covered his hand with hers, as she had done two nights ago at the Three Broomsticks. As she had done so many times before that.

But this time, for the first time, he swallowed, uncomfortably, and gently pulled his hand free.

And he _still_ wasn't looking at her.

She blinked again—_ruddy tears_. "Don't, Remus. Please. Don't pull away from me. Especially not now, not after—"

He flinched.

She swallowed past the lump in her own throat, and said only, "We're both grieving. We need each other."

He met her gaze, at last, but his expression was guarded. "You're one of the best friends I have, Tonks—one of the best friends I've ever had. I'm grateful for that."

That was something, coming from Remus Lupin. It was quite a lot, really.

It wasn't _enough_.

"You're bloody well more than a friend to me." She crossed her arms over her chest (over her heart, where it hurt) and glared. "And I think—after what happened Thursday night—I rather think I'm more than a friend to you, as well."

"We _can't_ be more than friends. It's simply not possible." His voice was calm, now, patient; his gaze was steady and focussed and _kind_. Tonks thought this must be how Remus had explained things at Hogwarts that year he taught, to students who were having trouble following their lessons.

It made her want to smash something.

_She_ was not the one who was having trouble understanding things just now.

Remus took a sip of tea, and went on in that dreadful calm voice, as though he were discussing the relative merits of housecleaning spells. "I'm far too old for you, for one. The year you were born was the year I started my third year at Hogwarts."

"Yes," said Tonks, "and that is completely irrelevant, unless it bothers one of _us_. Does it bother you? Because it doesn't bother me." She scowled at him. "I'm too young and foolish for _you_, then—is that it? Because you certainly never seemed to mind being partnered with me for Order missions."

"No," he said, eyes wide. "I never meant—you're a top-class Order member, a fully qualified Auror—"

She'd startled him. _Good_.

He sighed, and the calm patient expression settled over his face again. "But what would your mother say if you told her you were seeing someone who was thirteen years older?"

She grimaced—she couldn't help it. Her mum might well be a bit annoying about all this.

"You see, then." He nodded, as if he'd scored a point. As if his winning this argument wouldn't be every bit as much a loss for him as it would be for her.

"This is _stupid_." She eyed the stale tea that was rapidly cooling in her cup, gathered up her courage, and knocked back another swallow. It wouldn't do to waste Remus's horrid tea. It was the only tea he had, and he'd given it to her. "I _don't care_ if you're a few years older than I am. And the older we get, the less it will matter."

"Have a look round this flat." Remus's voice went even quieter, although Tonks knew him well enough to catch the thread of tension that wound through it. "You can see that I have nothing to my name—nothing at all. What little savings I have in my Gringotts vault may have to feed me for the rest of my life, thanks to Dolores Umbridge and her anti-Dark Creature legislation. I can't even buy a round of drinks for my friends without wondering what I'll have to forego later to make up for it." He smiled, although it was clearly rather forced. "You can do much better than to saddle yourself with someone who can't even offer you a decent cup of tea."

Tonks rolled her eyes. "Are you daft? Do you seriously think I'm a gold-digger? I'll have you know that an Auror's pay is plenty. For two, even." She rubbed a hand over her face. "I love you for who you _are_, Remus, not for what you _have_."

"Yes. Well." Now an unmistakeable edge of bitterness coloured his words; his lips pressed tightly together, even though his face was still bland and blank. "What I _am_—now, that's the biggest reason of all why nothing can ever happen between us."

"I didn't say _what_, I said _who_." Tonks took a deep breath and let it out again. Would Remus never understand how much more he was than the wolf that took him over once a month? "You're the kindest man I know. The one who makes me laugh the hardest. You're the person everyone depends on, the one who knows what to do and sees that everything gets done. You're—" her voice broke, and she finished in a whisper—"you're the one who made the earth bloody well stop turning when you kissed me." She swallowed. "You're the man I love."

That made him look away, and she could see his jaw working for a moment before he managed to reply.

"I become a deadly monster every month," he rasped, his gaze firmly fixed on his teacup. "I could _kill_ you at the full moon. Or turn you into—into what I am."

"The wolf _could_ bite or kill, in principle," said Tonks, softly, "but it _won't_, because you're careful, and I'm careful. And there's the Wolfsbane potion—"

"Which I will never be able to afford, and couldn't possibly brew for myself, even if I could manage to scrape up enough Galleons to buy the mere ingredients." His face was tight with strain. "Besides, no amount of Wolfsbane potion will change the fact that people cross the street when they see me coming."

She stared. "What?"

"Didn't know about that, eh?" He raised an eyebrow, letting some of the bitterness seep back into his voice. "It's not only Umbridge, you see. It's a good thing you wanted to meet at the Three Broomsticks the other night, for example, because I'm not so welcome at the Leaky Cauldron."

His mouth tightened, again, and he took another sip of tea.

"I could never drag someone else down into this kind of life," he said, his voice calm and quiet once more. As if what he was saying weren't all that important.

But then, he was also doing a fine job of drinking his tea as though it weren't vile.

"Spending time with you is worth loads more to me than going to the Leaky Cauldron." Tonks strained to keep her own voice steady. "Some people are stupid—it's awful that you have to put up with that kind of nonsense. But it might be less of a bother if we faced it together."

She reached across the table for his hand again.

This time, though, he stood before she could touch him, crossing to the other side of the small room in three swift strides.

"We can never be anything more than friends, Tonks."

His voice was still perfectly calm. But in the split second before he wrenched his gaze away, she saw the bleak desolation she had first seen two nights before in Hogsmeade, when he had returned her kiss so eagerly before breaking it off and stumbling back in horror.

Perversely, the pain in his eyes gave her hope. He cared for her _that much_.

"You've got to forget about this—this impossible fancy," he was insisting. "Find someone else, someone young and whole, someone who can make you happy." His mouth twisted into bitter lines. "Someone who isn't a destitute old _werewolf_."

Tonks swallowed the last of her tea, now stone-cold as well as dusty and acrid. "I am _not_ going to forget about this. About _us_. And it's far from an impossible fancy, because it's something we can _have_, the very second you stop being a prat about it." She pushed her own chair back from the table and stood to face Remus, who was staring at the floor. "But I can see there's no getting through to you tonight, so I'll be off, for now." She crossed her arms again and raised her chin. "I'll come round again Monday evening."

"What?" Remus looked up abruptly.

"Monday evening." She fixed him with a level look. "I'll come by at seven or so with something hot to eat. Check how you're doing."

"No—don't—" There was a flash of panic, for an instant, before he recovered, smoothing his face back into something bland. "That's kind of you, but there's really no need. I'll just be sleeping it off, anyway."

That hurt.

A lot.

He'd always been so happy to see her after the full moon, before. And the fact that he had trusted her enough to want her to visit when he wasn't at his best had meant so very much.

But Tonks blinked hard—_ruddy stupid tears!_—and took a deep, deep breath, because she had a pretty good idea of what was _actually_ going on. Remus must know he was pants at hiding his feelings when he was knackered after the moon. That was all this was. It had to be.

No amount of stonewalling from him now could make her forget that he had kissed her with such sweet hunger only two nights ago.

She _would not_ give up.

"Don't be ridiculous." She swung her satchel over her shoulder and planted her hand on her hip. "_You_ say we're friends. And no _friend_ is going to leave you to fend for yourself, not when it's the first moon after—"

Her voice broke, and she felt her tough shell crack, a little.

"Remus. _Hallowe'en_ was a bad moon—I saw you afterward, remember? And that all happened _fifteen years_ ago." She swallowed.

Remus didn't respond, beyond pressing his lips into a thin tight line again.

"Monday," said Tonks, taking a pinch of Floo powder out of the little box she carried in her pocket. "I'll be here."

**~o~**

By noon on Sunday, Remus was wearing two jumpers and still couldn't stop shivering. The dank chill of his basement flat, and the achy restless energy that heralded the approach of the full moon, drove him outdoors and sent him pacing around the park across the street. It was perennially strewn with rubbish, but at least it was sunny.

He kept his wand handy, in case one of the less savoury neighbours tried to rob him for drugs money—but he rather thought that, between his chattering teeth and the decidedly grey cast to his face, he was more likely to be taken for a destitute addict himself.

At least that was one thing he was not.

_Try convincing the Muggle coppers of that, Moony, if they catch you with a "magic wand,"_ said Sirius's voice in his head. It made him grin a little, around the sudden stab of pain.

Sirius had been there after every moon for the last year, crawling out of bed hours earlier than normal just to patch Remus up, and fuss over him, and cook him a great greasy fry-up for breakfast—and then Nymphadora would come to Grimmauld Place for supper and spend the evening, warming him right through with her bright easy laughter—

_Enough._ Remus kicked at a pebble in the path he was following and shoved his hands deep into his pockets. He had spent twelve years handling transformations on his own, after all.

He'd been an utter fool to start counting on anything different.

He wandered through the park long into the afternoon, managing not to lose himself more than a dozen times or so in memories that should have been entirely off-limits, until his restlessness had shaded over into exhaustion again and his steps had begun to stumble. He stayed out a little too long, in fact; by the time he returned to his flat, his hands were shaking so badly that he almost dropped his wand, and it took him three attempts to cast a whispered _Alohomora_ and get the door open.

Dumbledore's Patronus was waiting for him inside, a silver phoenix gliding in lazy circles around the room.

"Remus, my boy," it said, "Poppy is going to look in on you tomorrow morning, right after moonset. No arguments."

He should have been ashamed that Dumbledore had thought of this—should have sent his own Patronus back to, indeed, argue—should have insisted he would be fine on his own. Instead, he collapsed heavily onto the edge of his bed, gasping with relief at the prospect of help.

Nymphadora had been right. This was certain to be a very bad moon. Rather worse than she was imagining, most likely.

And it wasn't _only_ because of losing Sirius.

**~o~**

Tonks emerged from the Floo Monday evening to find Remus's tiny flat quite dark, even though the summer sun had not yet set.

"_Lumos_," she whispered, filling the room with soft blue light.

Now she could see Remus in bed, lying very still. Asleep, surely.

She spotted a cluster of candles on his kitchen table, so she tiptoed over (only bumping into one chair on the way) and lit them with her wand. She set a basket carefully on the table—it contained a cauldron of hearty soup (Charmed to be unspillable), a fresh loaf of crusty bread, and a large tin of her favourite brand of loose Darjeeling tea.

Then, calling on all her Stealth skills from Auror training, she crossed the small room—_nearly_ silently—to the bed.

Only, what she saw when she got there there made her gasp out loud.

Remus had a thick plaster on one side of his forehead, and a black eye, and bruises along his jaw. He had bandages all over his chest as well, under a pyjama top that was unbuttoned, and his left arm was tucked into a sling.

She clapped her hands over her mouth, but it was too late. Remus stirred once and then blinked, very blearily, up at her.

"Nymphadora," he mumbled.

She couldn't tell what he was thinking—aside from pain, his eyes held mainly disorientation, possibly from healing potions.

But at least he had called her Nymphadora. She hadn't realised how often he'd begun to use that name, lately, until he'd suddenly stopped again.

She dropped into a chair that had been pulled over from the table and placed by the bed. "Merlin, Remus."

A bad moon, indeed.

"'S'all right," he slurred. "Poppy came."

"I, erm, brought soup," she said, feeling awkward and rather useless. "Can I help you drink some?"

"No, thanks. Better if I sleep now." His smile was a little grotesque, because of the way his jaw had swollen, but his gaze went warm and soft enough to make her heart skip a beat. "Poppy'll be back. In the morning."

"All right," she said, softly, still wishing there was something she could do.

His hand that wasn't wrapped in the sling reached out for her, shakily, and she caught hold of it, as gently as she could.

"Glad you came," he whispered.

This time, she didn't blink fast enough, and a tear—_thrice-cursed ruddy stupid idiot tears!_—splashed onto her cheek. But at least Remus hadn't seen; his eyes had closed again even before he'd finished speaking. Clearly, sleep was what he needed most.

She leaned over, holding her breath, and brushed her lips across his temple, on the side away from the plaster and the black eye.

He sighed, a little, and the lopsided swollen smile reappeared.

Tonks set his hand gently down on the bed and pulled up the duvet, tucking it carefully around his shoulders—he was always so cold after moons. She tiptoed back over to the table, where she cast Warming and Freshening Charms on the soup and the bread and set out a bowl, a spoon, and a small cracked teapot that she found in the kitchen cupboard.

She turned back for another glance at the motionless figure in the bed before she fished her little box of Floo powder out of her pocket and put the candles out.

She would let Remus sleep now, and heal—and by Helga's Cup, she was going to get _someone_ to teach her how to brew the Wolfsbane potion before another month had gone by.

**~o~**

Remus smoothed a hand over the blank sheet of parchment—formerly a page of notes from an old Order meeting, from which he had just _Evanesco_'d the ink—and picked up his quill.

He rolled his shoulders, carefully, but everything actually seemed to be working again. The cuts and bruises were all healed, thanks to Poppy's clever potions, and even his dislocated elbow was giving him nothing more than a few twinges by now.

_Dear Tonks,_

_Thank you for stopping in to see me last night. I'm afraid I don't remember much of our conversation, as I was a little out of it at the time, but it was kind of you to come. I also wanted to thank you for the lovely soup and bread. And the tea, which is very nice._

He had a fresh cup of Darjeeling by his elbow at this very moment, and it was magnificent. He would have to drink it very slowly, and pay careful attention to his Freshening Charms. His last package of English Breakfast teabags had been decent enough when they were new, but they hadn't survived the year he'd spent at Grimmauld Place.

Nymphadora couldn't possibly know just how much it meant to him, to have decent tea.

He was a little ashamed that she'd had to see that he couldn't afford to buy any for himself—but really, that just helped him make his point, didn't it? She was much better off finding someone to be fond of who wasn't too poor to buy his own damn tea.

He took a sip, savoured it, and picked up the quill again.

_I wonder if I could ask you for a little help with a research project I'm doing, on Fenrir Greyback._

That was Order code, of course, for "please make an illegal copy of Greyback's file and sneak it out of the Auror Department." And writing it made him miss Sirius acutely—Sirius had been the one in charge of scouring Ministry files, and that had originally been an idea of Remus's, something to keep poor Padfoot from going completely round the twist while unable to leave the house and join regular Order missions.

A ploy which hadn't been entirely successful, in the end.

Remus carefully derailed that particular train of thought and took another sip of tea.

_I'll be home evenings all week, and I'd be happy to make you a pot of this lovely Darjeeling when you stop in._

He could do that. He could make Nymphadora some tea, and sit across the table from her, and have a civilised conversation about Fenrir Greyback (ha—now, there was a joke), and just be her Order colleague. And her friend. Surely that would get easier and easier, with practice.

If only the blasted dreams would leave him in peace.

He'd had a new dream last night. In this one, he was sleeping, and Nymphadora leaned over and kissed him gently on the temple. Just that—one soft simple kiss; nothing like the heady, hungry kiss that had actually happened in Hogsmeade last week. But it made him feel—cherished. Valued.

Loved.

This second dream-kiss, he suspected, was the more dangerous of the two. And it hadn't even been real.

_I'll send this from the Post Office now, and shall hope to see you soon. When we talk, I'll fill you in on my research project, which might prove to be quite interesting._

—_Remus_

Nymphadora would come, of course. Because he needed her help for an Order mission.

And because she was his friend.

Things would be all right again, once she had given up her reckless fancies—once she had stopped digging in her heels and insisting that he let her throw her life away by loving him.

So he would wait, for as long as it took, until she came to her senses.

After that, it would be much easier to ignore this need for her that chafed at his heart. And things would be all right again.

Remus drew a deep breath, and tried not to think about how much he missed the casual brush of Nymphadora's fingers against his arm, and went to take another sip of tea.

But the cup was empty.

**~o~**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Author's notes:<strong>_ Many thanks to all the readers who have been waiting so patiently for Part II of _Kaleidoscope_. I'm not quite ready to post the whole story yet, so unfortunately there won't be weekly updates at the moment, but I did want to get the first chapter up as a sign that more will be on the way before _too_ much longer. (Please check my profile for status updates—and for the impatient, all but about two chapters of Part II are posted in draft form on my LiveJournal, which is **shimotsuki**. Look for the "Kaleidoscope" link in the sidebar.)

_Kaleidoscope (II): Mirrors_ is a canon-compliant take on the relationship between Remus and Tonks during HBP year. I have been working on the _Kaleidoscope_ series since well before DH came out, and my intention is to make it entirely canon-compliant[*]—but it is not compatible with the Remus/Tonks backstory information that JKR released on Pottermore, because this is my version of how these two got together. That said, I am taking the new Pottermore details into account for Remus's childhood and family background; we'll see this especially with respect to Greyback here in Part II.

[*]Part III of _Kaleidoscope_ will also be canon-compliant, but it will end _before_ the Battle of Hogwarts. And if you want to know how I've decided to deal with the end of DH, well, it won't be in Kaleidoscope, but I have a story called "By a Thread" posted here that has a couple dozen AU sequels. 'Nuff said.

Finally, some thanks are in order. Many of the chapters of _Kaleidoscope_ began life as posts for challenges and events at the LiveJournal communities **rt_challenge**, **metamorfic_moon**, **day_by_drabble**, and **rt_morelove**—thanks to the mods, members, and readers at those communities for providing inspiration and encouragement. (And by the way, **rt_morelove** is planning a Remus/Tonks fic and art event over the 2014 winter holidays, so please join us there if you would like to write, draw, read, or view!)


	2. Colours Under the Moon

**~ _2_ ~**

**Colours Under the Moon**

Tonks dumped her satchel on the floor of her little bedroom and hung her Auror robes carefully in the wardrobe. Then she pulled open a drawer and rummaged through her T-shirts, looking for something _particularly_ cheerful.

Remus had sent an owl asking her to smuggle a copy of Fenrir Greyback's file out of the Auror Department. She had agreed at once, without giving it much thought. After all, one of her main functions in the Order was to spirit information out of the Ministry as needed.

But then, skulking in the dimly lit files vault after hours as she waited for the untraceable copying spell she'd learned from Mad-Eye to finish its job, she'd _read_ some of the pages from Greyback's file.

Nasty characters were all in a day's work, for an Auror. Tonks had seen quite a few already in her handful of years on the force. But what she'd glimpsed just from flipping through the Auror reports on the most notorious werewolf in Britain was enough to make her take deep gulping breaths and swallow bile.

She really, _really_ didn't want to think about why Remus needed this particular information just now. Hagrid, after all, had been sent to negotiate with the giants—

"Aha." Her fingers closed around a fluorescent-green Weird Sisters concert T-shirt, which she pulled on in place of the staid button-down shirt she'd been wearing under her work robes.

"A bit bright, isn't it, dearie?" opined the mirror that hung on the wall.

This mirror, in her room in the Aurors' hired cottage in Hogsmeade, obviously hadn't seen _anything_ yet. Tonks turned around to stick an impudent tongue out at it.

But when she caught sight of her own reflection, she stopped and stared.

She'd changed her hair to bubble-gum pink as soon as she left the Ministry, in anticipation of this evening. She _knew_ she had. Pink was, she strongly suspected, Remus's favourite of her habitual hair colours, for all that he chose his own clothes in such drab and unobtrusive shades. It was her own favourite, anyhow.

Now her hair had faded to a sort of pale strawberry, with some of the natural brown showing through. And the spikes drooped.

Tonks frowned.

Maybe she wasn't as fully recovered from Bellatrix's hex as she'd thought, even though it was already more than a week since she'd been let out of St. Mungo's.

She wrinkled her nose and pushed bright pink from the roots of her hair to the tips of her spikes.

"Goodness," said the mirror. "Really? With the green shirt?"

This time Tonks did stick her tongue out, before scooping up her satchel and thumping downstairs to the Floo.

**~o~**

"Wotcher!"

Tonks lurched out of the Floo into Remus's flat (catching herself just before she went sprawling) and found him sitting at his table, reading through a stack of parchment covered in his own neat, square handwriting.

She looked him over, trying to be quick and subtle about it. The last time she'd been here, only two nights ago, he'd been off his face on pain potions, recovering from the worst transformation she'd ever seen him have.

"Hello, Tonks." Remus looked up and smiled. But it was a swift careful smile, not the warm, open smile she missed so much. Careful was no good—the last thing she needed was for him to be overthinking things again.

And she did wish he hadn't stopped calling her Nymphadora. Even if she'd rather cut her own tongue out than admit it.

He started to stand.

"Don't get up," she said quickly, slipping into the chair next to his and dropping her satchel on the floor at her feet. "How are you feeling? You look better today." He did; even the black eye and the swollen jaw had healed, and his arm was out of the sling.

"I'm all right, thank you." His eyes were warm now, for all that his smile, still careful, was a little bit sad.

That particular combination was her utter undoing.

"Well, I'm _not_." Her voice wobbled. "I want to kiss you so much it's driving me completely barmy." She leaned toward him, curling her hand around his. "Especially since I know perfectly well you want to kiss me, too, no matter how many times you tell yourself it's not allowed."

He swallowed, hard, and disentangled his fingers from hers, shifting back a little in his chair. "Don't, Tonks. Please. Don't make this more difficult for us than it has to be."

"I'm not the one who's bloody well making things difficult!" She threaded her fingers through her hair instead, squeezing until her scalp burned, because, contrarily, it kept the tears at bay. She would _not_ cry. "It's you who keeps pushing me away!"

He froze, eyes wide, and started to reach for her after all, before he caught himself and jerked his hand back, clenching his fingers into a fist. "No—never that—I don't mean to push you _away_. Your friendship means everything to me. I—" He swallowed again, visibly forcing himself to hold her gaze. "May I still keep that?"

Tonks tried to breathe, hypnotised by the flicker of raw longing she saw hiding behind the pain and resolve in his eyes.

It was an enormous temptation to back him all the way into the corner. To say _no, we can't just be friends any longer—it's love between us, or it's nothing._ If keeping her friendship was as important to him as he said it was, she could use it as a bargaining chip, to win them what they _both_ truly wanted—

But that was dangerous. Remus being Remus, there was a very good chance he would decide he had to plump for the _nothing_. She couldn't risk that—not when he'd just lost Sirius. Not when whatever he was working on for the Order had him asking her to smuggle Fenrir Greyback's file out of the Ministry. She couldn't bear to take this one last source of support away from him.

Or, to be perfectly honest, from herself.

So she sighed, and folded her hands in front of her on the table so she would remember not to try to touch him. "Of course you have my friendship. It's important to me, too, you daft prat. Don't ever forget that."

The flash of relief that crossed his face made her blink very hard for a second or two.

Right, then. She would keep hold of Remus's friendship, for now, and make sure that he knew he had hers.

This did _not_ mean that she was giving up on trying to talk him round.

**~o~**

"Let me make you some tea," said Remus. "I have some rather nice Darjeeling now. As you know."

Tonks looked up and caught the bitter edge of his smile just before he smoothed it over into blandness again. _Bloody stubborn pride._ What good was having friends, if they couldn't give you a hand from time to time?

"I'm glad you like it," she said, simply. "It's one of my favourites, and I thought it might be just the thing while you were recovering from the moon."

"It has been, thank you," he said, less stiffly now, and he even gave her a shadow of a real grin.

She had to sit on her hands to keep from reaching out to touch him again.

He stood, then, and turned to his kitchen cupboard. The familiar ritual was back this time—he heated water and measured scoops of tea into his little teapot with utmost care, and did not cast the Steeping Charm.

Tonks drew a careful breath and let it out again. At least she had found a way to give him back _something_ that he'd had at Grimmauld Place.

Remus floated two fragrant cups of tea over to the table and followed, lowering himself creakily into his seat. They sipped for a moment, in appreciative silence, and Tonks even got to see the tiny little blissful smile that sometimes slipped out when Remus was drinking nice tea.

But then he squared his shoulders and set his cup carefully down on his saucer. "Were you able to make a copy of anything from Greyback's file at the Ministry?"

The Darjeeling turned acrid in her mouth.

She nodded, swallowing her tea hastily, and bent down to dig through her satchel. "I got all of it." She surfaced with a bulging file, stuffed with magical copies of creased and yellowed sheets of parchment. "It's—ruddy awful, frankly. I knew Greyback was on the Ministry's Most Wanted list, but I had no idea he was so—so—_vile_. And I haven't even read half of what's in here."

"Yes," said Remus, quietly, still gazing into his teacup. "He's a nasty one, indeed."

The stiff edges of the file bit into her fingers as she gripped it, oddly reluctant to hand it over. "Is this for a mission, then?"

Remus looked up, meeting her eyes at last. His grim expression was her answer.

"You're going off to negotiate with him." Tonks shivered. "Like Hagrid did with the giants."

"Not exactly." Remus huffed something sharp and bitter that he had probably meant as a laugh. "I don't think there's any point in trying to negotiate with Greyback, given his history, and what I've seen this last week or so."

"What you've _seen_?"

He gestured at the notes he'd been reading through when she'd arrived. "Dumbledore has had me on a surveillance mission."

"You've been out in the wood with Greyback's pack?" _With no backup?_ Tonks clutched the file even more tightly, to keep her hands from shaking. Greyback had killed a couple of Hit Wizards from the Ministry in the first war. Had torn their throats out, if she remembered correctly. And that _wasn't_ at the full moon.

"I've been using one of Moody's Invisibility Cloaks, of course." Remus shrugged. "Even with the Cloak, I haven't been able to get close enough to hear them talking, but I've begun to put together some idea of the structure of the pack." He drew a deep breath. "The plan is for me to infiltrate the group—pretend I've given up trying to live as a normal wizard—and do whatever I can to stop the other werewolves from following Greyback over to the Death Eaters. I'll be able to keep the Order informed about what the pack is up to, as well."

"You're—that's— Merlin, Remus." Tonks huddled into herself, wrapping her arms around her middle. Remus had spent his life fighting an uphill battle against his condition, gradually losing everything he'd ever had except his pride and his humanity. And now Dumbledore was sending him off to throw his lot in with a pack of rough, destitute, likely violent werewolves. At least one of whom was undeniably a monster, in ways that had nothing to do with lycanthropy itself and everything to do with how Greyback _used_ his affliction.

A lock of hair—limp and mousy-brown—drooped over one eye. She scowled, forcing her hair to go pink and spiky again.

It took more effort than she'd expected.

"I'm ony doing what is necessary." Remus set his jaw. "If there is anything at all that will stop Greyback's werewolves from fighting on Voldemort's side, then I must do it, no matter what it takes. And I'm the only one in the Order who can."

His voice was steady. Calm. And he was right, of course. The mission was essential, and he was the only Order member in a position to carry it out.

But his eyes were _so_ bleak.

Tonks shivered, again.

Remus must have seen it, because he gave her a little half-smile that wasn't even bitter, and his eyes warmed a little. "It's all right, truly. I've lived rough plenty of times before. These werewolves actually have a roof over their heads, and they keep themselves fed. It won't be so bad—there's really no need to worry."

She blinked at him in utter disbelief. _No need to—_

"Greyback goes after _children,_ Remus. On _purpose._ He's been doing it since at least—" she flipped to the back of the file—"1962. Although it seems they didn't know it was him, at first—these early reports were all filed much later than the incidents themselves."

"Yes." Remus's voice was still mild, but Tonks could see that his fingers were clenched around his teacup. "I understand Voldemort was quite interested in him the first time around, as well, although for reasons the Order never understood, Greyback kept his distance back then."

"He _plans_ his attacks," she said. "He deliberately places himself where he knows he can do damage, and waits for the moon to rise."

"Indeed," said Remus, staring fixedly at the table again. "One of the many well-known _delightful_ facts about Fenrir Greyback."

Tonks could only imagine what he was thinking, this man for whom infecting an innocent person with lycanthropy was the most hellish fate imaginable.

She turned a few pages. "Bloody hell. Listen to this one—'16th February, 1965. St. Mellons, South Glamorgan, Wales. Victim male, age four. Greyback entered dwelling through bedroom window prior to full moon and attacked victim after transforming.'" She drew a shaky breath. "'Victim's father was able to drive Greyback out before attack turned fatal, but victim was infected.'" She bit her lip. "The poor kid was only _four_—"

"That can't be right—"

Tonks looked up to find that Remus had gone whiter than chalk.

"St. Mellons?" he rasped. "In—February of 1965—?"

His teacup rattled dangerously when he dropped it into his saucer. His right hand went to his left shoulder, and his thumb rubbed at a spot just above his collarbone.

_No—oh, bloody hell—no— _

Tonks felt the colour drain from her own face. She forced herself to keep reading, even though her throat had gone completely dry.

"'Victim bitten on left shoulder,'" she whispered. "'Skin lacerated, muscles badly torn, clavicle fractured.'"

She looked up again, straight into Remus's horrified gaze.

**~o~**

"May I see that?" Remus's voice was very quiet, and very nearly steady.

Tonks, struck speechless for once, passed him the wrinkled piece of parchment. There was only one sentence left, in any case.

_This report filed 3 March 1971 by A.P.B.W. Dumbledore on behalf of the victim's father, who wishes to remain anonymous._

Reading over Remus's shoulder put Tonks close enough to see that he was shaking. Without thinking, she reached out and covered his hand with hers. But as soon as she felt his skin under her fingers, warm and rough and trembling, she braced herself for him to pull away again.

He didn't.

He turned his wrist a little and closed his hand around hers, almost tightly enough to hurt.

Tonks breathed a sigh that was half a sob, and covered their joined hands with her other one. Holding on.

He'd been _four_.

"I should have realised," said Remus, hoarsely. "It was the screaming that woke me—the ungodly, blood-curdling screaming."

He was flat-out shivering now.

"I always thought the werewolf who bit me must have been roaming loose that night by some horrible chance. That he'd only bitten me because the wolf had taken over his mind. I—pitied him."

Tonks kept a tight hold on Remus's hand with both of hers, and scooted her chair closer to his until their arms touched. He leaned into her.

"I should have _realised_." His free hand found his left shoulder again, rubbing fretfully at that spot above his collarbone. "It wasn't howling, not at first—it was _screaming_. It could only have been a werewolf in the throes of the transformation. He had to have come inside before moonrise." He drew a shuddering breath. "I can't believe I never saw that."

"You had no reason to see it," said Tonks, softly. "Why would you ever think that a werewolf had attacked you _deliberately_?"

"Greyback," Remus whispered, staring at the case report. "It was Greyback who did this to me. My father—" His voice broke. "My father never told me."

"_Dumbledore_ knew!" Tonks spat the words, suddenly furious. "He _knew_, and _he_ never told you either, and now he wants to send you straight to Greyback—"

Remus gave his head a sharp shake, as though trying to clear it. "I think—I think he would have told me, now that it matters. He knew I was going to ask you for the file. Surely he would have suggested that himself if I hadn't thought of it." He brushed a finger over the date at the bottom of the case report. "March, 1971. That would have been when Dumbledore came to talk my parents into letting me go to Hogwarts." He tried to smile, but it was a twisted thing. "I suppose my father told him then."

"You can't go through with this mission, Remus. What if Greyback works out who you are?" Tonks could hardly force the words out. "Will he want to—to—finish what he started?"

"From what I've heard, I think he'll be more likely to welcome me into the fold." Remus's voice was decidedly bitter, now. "He made me, after all."

"He did _not_." She tightened her grip on his hand. "He's had _nothing_ to do with the clever, funny, kind man you are."

"It doesn't matter." Remus straightened his spine, sitting tall in his chair, pulling away from where she sat leaning into him. "I'll be one of his pack now, regardless."

He drew his hand out from between hers, leaving her hands cold and empty.

"Can you really do this?" A whisper was all she could manage. "Can you look him in the eye—can you live alongside him—knowing he's the one who's caused you so much pain all your life?"

Remus pressed his lips together. "There's still no choice. Nothing about this war has changed, merely because I know now what happened to me more than thirty years ago." He drew a deliberate breath. "And this mission is nothing compared to the dangers you and Kingsley and the other Aurors have to face every day. Certainly nothing compared to what Severus has to endure, every time Voldemort summons him. I must do my part as well."

His jaw was set, his eyes resolute, his hands curled into fists.

Even so, Tonks could still feel him shaking.

And then her hair came down, all of it, the jaunty pink spikes melting into dull brown strands that flopped into her face.

She closed her eyes, and clenched her teeth, and pushed with all her will.

She couldn't change it back.

**~o~**


	3. If Battle Lines are Drawn

**~ _3_ ~**

**If Battle Lines are Drawn**

It was good to see the Order having meetings again, Molly thought, watching the familiar faces gather around her kitchen table in the slow summer dusk.

Good, but not quite—right. Things were off.

Holding the meeting at the Burrow was strange enough, to start with. Not unwelcome, not really—the Burrow was much more comfortable than the mouldering old house on Grimmauld Place, and it was easier for Molly to keep everyone fed from her own kitchen. Besides, now that all the security spells were in place for Harry's sake, the Burrow was safer than just about anywhere outside Hogwarts. But it felt strange all the same.

Especially given the reason for the change in venue.

Sirius had set Molly's teeth on edge, had been a bad influence on the children, had caused trouble by needling Severus at every opportunity. But he hadn't deserved to die.

And surely it was that sudden tragic loss that was responsible for some of the other things that weren't quite right—Remus slipping in at the last moment with his shoulders tightly hunched, say. Or Tonks looking worn and dull under drab brown hair. Molly hadn't realised how fond she had become of the crazy colours the bright young Auror favoured until she had turned up today without them.

But there was also Severus, who couldn't possibly be mourning Sirius Black, and yet was even more sallow and snappish than usual. More disturbing still was Dumbledore's blackened, shrivelled hand, which he carefully avoided explaining.

There was the strange chilly mist that hung in the air, entirely wrong for July. Bill said it likely meant that dementors were breeding all over the countryside.

And, of course, looming like a poisoned shadow over every friendly word or warm smile shared in Molly's kitchen tonight was the knowledge that You-Know-Who himself had appeared in the Ministry, in the flesh, beyond all doubt.

They were at war.

**~o~**

"The next item of business," said Dumbledore, "is Remus's new mission, and the necessary arrangements." The Headmaster smiled in his usual avuncular way, injured hand notwithstanding. "Remus, would you be so kind as to brief the Order on the nature of your mission?"

For some reason, that made Tonks, who was sitting right across the table from Molly, scowl sharply in Dumbledore's direction.

"Of course," said Remus, in the same steady voice as always, even though Molly could see lines on his face that hadn't been there two weeks before. "My objective is to prevent, as far as possible, outcast werewolves from going over to the Death Eaters." He paused to straighten the stack of notes in front of him, but then he looked up again with a small wry smile, as though he knew a secret joke at someone's expense. "To this end, I must infiltrate Fenrir Greyback's werewolf pack."

Molly gasped, and hers wasn't the only gasp around the crowded kitchen table. Fenrir Greyback stood for everything that everyone feared about werewolves. She knew now, of course, that werewolves weren't all—that _Remus_ wasn't—like that.

But Greyback _was_.

"And just how do you propose to keep your own hide intact?" Severus's sneer was, perhaps, harsher than necessary. "You can hardly conceal the fact that you've spent your whole life trying to fit in amongst _normal_ people. Greyback's monsters don't much like that, or so I hear."

"Ah," said Remus lightly, "I have a plan for precisely that purpose. I'll simply tell them that my last few friends have turned against me—driven me away—and I have nowhere left to go."

Tonks made a small angry noise.

Remus merely shrugged, aiming his wry smile around the table at large. "It's not true, of course. But it shouldn't be a difficult story to make the pack believe."

The easy way he said that made Molly wonder, not for the first time, just what it was that he'd been doing for all the years between the Potters' deaths and his stint teaching Defence at Hogwarts.

"Only, Severus," Remus added, his tone gone rather abrupt, "I do take exception to your wording. We all know that Greyback is a monster. That doesn't mean that all of the _people_ in his pack are, as well. Some of them may truly believe they have no other choice."

Severus held Remus's gaze for a long silent moment. Then he inclined his head, briefly, and Remus nodded once in return.

"Lupin," Alastor growled. "What are you going to _do,_ living out there in Greyback's wood? You can't just march in and take over the pack, lad. They make a point of paying great heed to status, from all accounts, and yours will be the lowest of all if you're new."

"Yes, I know." There was the wry smile again. "That's why I'm planning to stay for some months."

_Months?_ Molly shivered.

Remus was still looking at Alastor. "I need to understand the intricacies of the pack hierarchy, and see what I can do to find and support a faction that might be willing to stand up against Greyback." The smile faded, and what it left behind was rather bleak. "At the very least, I hope to find some werewolves who can be made to distrust Death Eaters. Even that may be worth something."

Molly shivered again, in sympathy. She never liked to think too hard about whether anything that any of them were doing would really make a difference, in the end.

"Are your preparations for the mission complete?" Dumbledore raised his eyebrows expectantly.

"Nearly," said Remus, shaking off the bleakness—or whatever it had been—and settling back into his usual quiet competence. "I've been carrying out covert surveillance missions in order to learn about the structure of the pack. Still, I'm not quite ready to leave at once. And it's essential that I arrive as soon as possible after full moon, so as to have four weeks to establish a place in the pack before my first transformation there." Remus's smile turned a bit grim. "So I'll continue my surveillance for a few more weeks—gather as much more information as I can—and then go out to join the pack right after the full moon on the thirtieth."

"You'll still be here for Harry's birthday on the thirty-first, won't you?" Molly blurted. "He'd want you at his party."

Remus seemed taken aback. "Would he?"

"I think," said Dumbledore gently, "that you can afford to delay your departure until after Harry's birthday."

"Of course." Remus still looked slightly unsettled. "Harry will be coming of age this year. I should be glad of a chance to wish him well."

"We ought, however, to take this opportunity to determine who your Order contact will be during your mission." Dumbledore scanned the faces of the assembled company.

"I'll want to meet my contact weekly, at least at first." Remus looked down at his notes, squaring the edges of the stack of parchment again. "I won't have any sort of watch or clock, so the meetings ought to be set for midday, when the sun is at its highest point, so that I know when to turn up. Besides, my observations thus far indicate that I will have the most freedom to move about in the wood without attracting attention during the middle of the day." He glanced quickly round the table. "And given the physical threat posed by Greyback and some of his more, shall we say, _enthusiastic_ supporters, I think my contact should be someone with extensive defence training. An Auror, ideally."

Tonks straightened up out of her slouch. Her face, which had been even paler than usual today, was suddenly flooded with colour. Molly smiled a little. It was good that Remus still had such a loyal friend to depend on, now that Sirius was gone. She'd enjoyed seeing Remus growing ever closer to Tonks this last year—he deserved a good friend, and the girl was a bright spot for everyone, really.

Except that this time, Remus looked right past her.

He'd been doing that all evening, Molly suddenly realised. All through the meeting. Just one more thing that was _wrong_ today.

"Alastor." Remus waited for the grizzled old man to look at him with both eyes. "Would you be my contact on this mission?"

Tonks stared. Her hands, resting on the table, curled slowly into fists.

"Me? Why not the lass?" Alastor was as blunt as ever. "If you want an Auror."

"I—" Now Remus did look at Tonks, but he flinched away at once from the accusation—and the hurt—in her eyes. "It's got to be someone I can meet at midday, Tonks," he said, quietly. "You'd be on shift most of the time. But, if you're willing—would you be my emergency backup?" He stole a glance at her again. "Alastor can keep you briefed on my status, and I'd get in touch with you if I needed to contact the Order and I couldn't reach him."

Tonks's glare softened, and she nodded once, jerkily. "Yeah. Of course."

"That's settled, then," Alastor rumbled, looking at Remus with his real eye—but keeping his magical one trained on Tonks.

**~o~**

"That's the last of the Order business for tonight," said Dumbledore, eventually. "Thank you, all."

"Everyone's welcome to stay for supper," said Molly, over the din of chairs scraping and chatter starting up. "It's already rather late, and I've a whole cauldronful of stew."

Severus excused himself, as he always did. Some of the others said their goodbyes as well, stepping through the Floo or ducking out into the unseasonably chilly twilight to Apparate. But Molly was glad to see a fair few Order members settling in to stay for a bit.

The busier she kept, the less time she had to think about—things.

She had already Summoned a stack of bowls and started to serve up the stew when a light touch on her arm made her pause her wand-waving and look around.

"Good night, Molly," said Remus, quietly, under the buzz of talk and laughter that filled the kitchen. "I'll be going now. I have a few things I need to take care of tonight."

She frowned. "I do wish you'd stay, dear." He looked _so_ tired and thin, and there was a certain haunted loneliness about him that rather worried her. It wasn't very long since the full moon—and it wasn't long at all since he had lost his best friend. "At least have something hot to eat before you go."

"You're not leaving already?" George looked round from where he was busily slicing three fat loaves of bread.

"Only, we had a project we wanted to talk to you about," said Fred, who was supposed to be setting the table. "An idea for something the Order might be able to use—an untraceable Portkey."

"We've got a lot of the basic Charms for it worked out," said George, "but we wanted to ask you about some of the spells on the Map. See if they might be useful for this."

"Sounds like a good idea." But Remus glanced around the room, looking oddly uncomfortable. "I'd like to talk with you about it, but tonight I really do need to go, I'm afraid."

Tonks was watching them, Molly saw. But instead of catching her eye and smiling, as he always used to do, Remus turned away at once, busying himself with his stack of notes once again.

The poor girl looked absolutely crushed.

Was something wrong between them? Now, after losing Sirius, when they needed each other all the more?

"Come for supper tomorrow," said Molly. "You promised me you would, sometimes, and we haven't seen you in ages."

Remus smiled, then—only a small one, but it warmed his eyes, and Molly was reassured. "Thank you. I would like that." He nodded at Fred and George. "Until tomorrow."

He slipped out through the kitchen door into the back garden. The door clicked shut behind him.

"Has he gone home? Just like that, without any supper?"

Molly started, turning back to her cauldron of stew to find Tonks hovering there at her elbow. She looked awfully thin herself, poor thing, and her new drab colours didn't suit her at all. She was staring at the door, staring after Remus, with her heart in her eyes.

And then the Knut dropped.

_Oh, dear._

The poor girl had gone and fallen in love.

"Are you working an early shift tomorrow?" Molly started dishing out stew again.

"Hmm?" Tonks blinked and turned to look at her. "No—afternoon, actually."

"Then stay for a while." Molly patted her arm. "Let's have a cup of tea after everyone else has gone home."

**~o~**

Molly poured the tea. "Milk and sugar, isn't it?"

"Ta." Tonks managed a somewhat watery smile, and took a sip, clinking the cup against the saucer as she set it down. Molly tried not to wince—this was a hand-me-down set of dishes from Arthur's Aunt Muriel, anyway. And she was good at _Reparo_.

She curled her hands around her own cup of hot, milky tea. "Are you all right, dear? Only, you don't look as though you're quite _yourself_."

The smile she got in return was rather more brittle than she was used to seeing from the bubbly young Auror. "That's just it. What you're seeing is _entirely_ myself. I'm—having some trouble with my Metamorphosing."

"My goodness." Molly hadn't known that could happen. "Is it from when you were hurt in the fighting?" _Or from losing Sirius,_ she thought, but didn't say.

"Probably," said Tonks. "It doesn't help that there are so many dementors around Hogsmeade—it's a bit draining to be fending them off from the village all the time."

She sipped at her tea.

Molly waited.

"And," said Tonks, quietly, "I'm awfully frightened for Remus."

There it was.

"This new mission of his does sound rather difficult. I suppose he'll be living rough, and those forest werewolves are sure to be dangerous." Molly frowned. "And, all that aside, I'm not sure I like the idea of Remus going off alone so soon after—you know."

"Yes, exactly," said Tonks, frowning back. "But that's not the _only_ thing. Remus has got a—a history, with Greyback." She shook her head. "This mission isn't good for him, not at all. And he'll be gone so long..."

"A history?" Molly stared. "Greyback's never the one who—bit him? Is he?"

Tonks looked up, startled. "It's not my secret to tell. But—he's grieving, and he's hurting, and having to live with that—that monster—" She closed her eyes for a minute, and swallowed. "It would be hard on him even if everything else were normal. But now—"

Molly covered one small cold hand with her own warm one. "You care about Remus quite a lot, dear. Don't you."

Those deep, dark eyes—such a pretty colour, and apparently it was natural, too—met Molly's, square on.

"I love him," said Tonks, simply.

Molly squeezed her hand. "I can see why you do. He's a lovely man, so warm and kind. But—" She slowed, trying to find the right words. Tact had never been her strongest suit. "He's an awfully private person, isn't he? I don't know if he ever lets anyone see all the way into his heart." She took a deep breath. "You've got to be prepared that he might not ever be able to love you back."

"But he does,"said Tonks.

"He might never—What?" Molly blinked. "He does?"

"He told me so himself." The watery smile was back.

"He _told_ you?" Molly stared. Then why had Remus been trying to hard to avoid Tonks tonight?

"And—" Tonks blushed, something that Molly had never seen before. "He kissed me. Just the one time, but—" Her eyes were very far away. "It was bloody fantastic."

Tonks usually managed not to swear in front of her. But Molly rather thought that this conversation qualified as extreme circumstances.

"That's wonderful, dear!" She squeezed Tonks's hand again. "I'm so happy for you both."

"No need," said Tonks, suddenly bleak again. "Remus insists that nothing can ever happen between us."

"What?" Molly was beginning to feel like a first-year in the front row of the stands at a Quidditch match, dizzy from trying to follow the Snitch. "Whyever not?"

Tonks sighed. "He insists he's too old for me, and too poor. And that being with a werewolf is too dangerous."

"Remus? Dangerous? That's absurd." Molly shook off a prickle of guilt for having had such thoughts herself, once upon a time. Before she _knew_ him. "And he's not that much older than you. I suppose he _is_ poor, but riches aren't everything, and anyhow, _you're_ not poor!"

Tonks smiled, a little. "I'm glad you see it my way." The smile faded. "If only Remus did."

**~o~**

"We're calling it a Confundus Portkey," came George's voice from the front room.

"The idea is," said Fred, "if you're watching when someone uses one to get away, it Confounds you, so you can't work out what just happened or who you've seen at all."

"But we want it to have a password. So that if you're in the know, you can see one activate _without_ getting Confounded."

"Which is why we thought of the Map."

Molly Levitated the roast beef out of the oven and checked on the Yorkshire pudding, which was steaming merrily. "Supper's ready, you lot!" she called.

Ron and Ginny thumped down the stairs, and the others came in from the front room—Fred and George, Arthur, and Remus.

"That's brilliant," Remus was saying. "The Order could really use something like that. Especially if things go badly in the Ministry, and we have to be careful about using Apparition or registered Portkeys or the Floo."

_Surely not,_ Molly thought, momentarily frozen. Surely it wouldn't ever get that bad.

But there was more life in Remus's eyes than Molly had seen in weeks. "And I do think," he said, "that I see some applications for our old password spells from the Map. I'll write out some notes for you."

Supper was a great success. Remus actually smiled at least five different times, and ate two helpings of roast beef with all the trimmings. Molly rather wondered just what he was feeding himself, now that he was living alone again instead of in the middle of the circus that had been the Black house on Grimmauld Place. She would simply have to try to get him to come for supper as many times as she could before he went off to join the werewolf pack.

And if she could get Tonks here as well, so much the better.

Once the dishes were done, the twins clattered back off to their own flat, and the younger children wandered upstairs again. Arthur settled down in the front room with the _Evening Prophet_. But Molly convinced Remus to have a cup of tea with her in the kitchen before he went home. She didn't ask about his mission or mention Sirius, and he didn't say much of anything at all. His eyes stayed warm, though, and he seemed to appreciate the company.

There was a flurry of knocks at the door. "Molly?" came a familiar clear voice. "Have you got a minute?"

Remus stiffened.

But Molly beamed. What perfect timing.

"Security question, dear," she called. "What did you always trip over in the hallway of a certain house?"

"That bl—erm, stupid troll's foot umbrella stand!" was the response.

Molly pulled the door wide open. "Come in and have a cup of tea with us."

"Who's—Oh! Wotcher, Remus." Tonks sounded nearly as cheery as always, but another unfamiliar blush spread across her face. She ducked her head, fumbling to extricate herself from her cloak, which was damp from what must have been a rain shower in Hogsmeade.

Molly turned toward Remus just in time to catch the look that flashed across his face—raw, hopeless, _aching_ longing.

It was gone so quickly, she almost wasn't sure that she had seen it at all. By the time Tonks had hung up her cloak, Remus had reverted to the bland, calm politeness he always mustered to face the world at large.

But something of his secret thoughts lingered. Molly understood, now, where that new haunted look of his had come from.

"Hello, Tonks," said Remus, carefully. "I'm afraid I was just going." He managed a swift smile, but this one didn't reach his eyes at all, and before either woman could say a word, he was on his feet and halfway to the door.

"Wait—" Tonks reached out, making to touch his arm. "At least—at least finish your tea."

He slipped past her, turning back only once his hand was on the doorknob. "It's getting late, and I mustn't overstay my welcome." Another swift, forced smile. "Thank you for a lovely evening, Molly."

And then he was gone.

Tonks's face crumpled.

Molly put an arm around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze. "Don't give up," she whispered. "If you think he's worth fighting for, then fight."

"Oh," said Tonks, fiercely, "no worries there." The stubborn set of her jaw suddenly made Molly think of Sirius. "It wasn't for nothing I was Sorted into Hufflepuff."

"Good for you, dear." Molly smiled, in spite of herself.

_This_ was a battle she wouldn't mind taking part in.

**~o~**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Author's notes:<strong>_ This chapter is a revised version of a story that was originally posted at the Stocking Filler Exchange 2013 at the **rt_morelove** community on LiveJournal.


End file.
